


Since the Beginning

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Series: Where Is He? [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Clint Barton, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-03-24
Packaged: 2018-10-10 04:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10428834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Clint goes missing on an Avengers mission, but Phil and the team track him quickly to a HYDRA base to rescue him. Turns out, he's been rescuing himself for a long time and isn't about to stop now.





	

“Where is he?” Phil whispers as he scans the five computer screens. He leans over the console operator and pushes a button. “Try there. Rewind.”

“Coulson, I’m tracing the last known trajectory of their jet, but I don’t have enough factors to limit it – do you guys have anything on the current active HYDRA list you can send JARVIS? I’ve been playing nice and haven’t hacked it lately.”

Phil leans over the console again and types a few commands. “Done. You should have access now.”

Tony is quiet, and Natasha comes over the comms and says, “Thor and Hulk have cleared the debris from the building. He’s not there, but we did find something you should see.”

“Stark, can you – “ Phil starts.

“On it,” Tony interrupts. He flies down to where Natasha is standing and turns his cameral on what she’s holding. It looks like part of an ID badge. “Scanning,” he says, and Phil crosses his arms and clenches his hands into fists where no one can see them.

He counts to twenty-two and Tony says, “HYDRA for sure. That narrows it down to two particular bases we haven’t hit yet, based on materials and building’s ability to hold a captive. I’m sending you the two bases and their info. JARVIS,” Tony adds, “Reposition satellites in the area and get us schematics.”

Phil takes a moment to appreciate the fact that despite having to deal with Tony on a personal basis, having his resources is always a bonus. He also lets himself take a moment and do two four-count breaths. Clint is gone, but they’re going to get to him quick. 

“They’re going to either kill him right away to prove a point, or mess with him for a while to prove a point,” Natasha says, and Phil cuts off an angry retort because she’s right.

“They’re not going to have time to do either,” Steve snaps.

“Right,” Phil says, and he turns to another bank of computers and types in his override codes for the nearest Quinjet. “I’ve got a jet coming to me. Natasha and Steve, get Bruce over here with you. Stark, pick a base and get over there. We’ll drop Steve with you and then take the second base.” He holds onto Steve’s angry tone as fuel. Cap doesn’t get angry very often, but if he’s angry and ready to get Clint out of there, then he’ll get Clint out of there. That’s something you can count on. Phil will add that to his own anger and use it when he gets to that base.

As he waits for the rest of the team and the jet, he pulls his tac suit out of his go-bag and strips out of his suit. He speaks to the three SHIELD agents with him in the portable command center as he dresses. “Benton and Markel, you’re both with me on the jet. We’ll need backup and possibly medical assistance, and you’re both up on your EMT training. Jackson, you’ll stay here and monitor our channels and hold this site down until SHIELD sends reinforcements to wrap up.” All three nod and Phil moves to the back of the unit and pulls open the gun locker. He arms himself with four guns and three more knives, and pulls on the backpack with emergency medical supplies. He swallows the thought of finding Clint’s body and being too late to help.

Two minutes later the jet is there and Phil is in the co-pilot’s seat feeding navigation instructions into the computer.

“We’re on!” Natasha calls, and he turns to see her pull Bruce and Steve on board.

He signals the pilot and they’re airborne right away.

“Coulson.” Tony breaks in on the comms and the darkness of his voice makes Phil stop stock-still.

“Here.”

“Don’t bother dropping Cap here. He’s not at this base,” Tony says, and Phil releases his breath. “They blew this one to smithereens and there haven’t been people here in at least a month. I’m going to run one more scan, but I think they want us to think they blew him up.” There’s a pause, and then Tony adds, “They don’t know how good JARVIS’s scans are. They didn’t blow him up.”

“Meet us at the other base,” Phil says, and then he pulls up the schematics JARVIS just sent of where they’re headed. It isn’t a big base, but it’s tucked at the bottom of a cliff face at the edge of an old growth forest. There isn’t much maneuverability there.

“We’re going to have to rappel down,” Natasha says, echoing Phil’s thoughts.

“Stark can take out the guards, we can be down in one minute, and I’ll bet JARVIS can handle the lock here,” Steve says.

Phil looks at the plans again and shakes his head. “I don’t want Stark taking any guards out, not at first,” Phil says, and Natasha nods.

“If they know we’re coming they’ll shoot him in the head,” she says, and Phil closes his eyes against the image.

“We rappel down, take out the guards, and Tony pops the lock once we’re close,” Phil says quietly.

Tony chimes in, “I can make it look like one of the guards popped the lock. Keep us stealthy a bit longer.”

“We should parachute in,” Natasha said, looks at Phil sternly. “The jet can maintain altitude and be ready to land for support, but they’ll spot us if we take the jet onto that cliff.” Phil’s gotten very good over the years at reading Natasha’s voice for worry, and he’s comforted by the fact that there isn’t even a trace of it right now. He should follow her lead.

“Okay,” he says. “We chute in, get down the cliff to the guards, and get inside. There are only two places he could be held, so we’ll send Steve to one and you and I’ll take the other.” He looks over at Banner, who’s sitting with a grim exhaustion in his eyes. “I think we’ll keep you on the jet until we know we need you.”

“The Other Guy doesn’t need a parachute if you do end up needing me,” Bruce says with a smile.  

Within ten minutes, they’re geared up and over the landing mark.

“Legolas is buying dinner tonight,” Tony says as the doors opened and he greets them by hovering close.

“I’ll second that,” Phil says, and then he jumps. 

They aren’t nicknamed “Earth’s Mightiest Heroes” for nothing, and they’re down the cliff and standing around unconscious guards within minutes. The door slides open at Tony’s command, and Phil sucks in a sharp breath.

There, standing in the hallway of a HYDRA base, is Clint, his hair sweat-soaked, his face bloody and pale, his uniform torn down the side, his bow nowhere to be seen, and a slightly shaking rifle pointed in their direction. Phil puts his hands up and grins. “We should’ve just let you handle it, huh Barton?” he says, and he can’t help the affection that seeps through, even here in the field.

Clint keeps the rifle up for a moment, and then lets it fall to his side. Phil wants to rush him, to pull him close, but he sees the wild look in Clint’s eyes, the adrenaline rush that’s still full-on, the way his chest is heaving a little too hard for this to be Phil’s moment with him.

“You got a jet?” Clint says, and his voice is rocky and dark.

Phil notices that Steve and Natasha aren’t moving either. “Yes,” he says.

Steve steps forward to meet Clint and Phil sees the flinch, the way the gun comes back up for a second before Clint lets it back down to his side.

Steve stops. “Are there more guards?” he asks.

Clint swallows and shakes his head. “No.”

Tony’s voice comes through all of their comms. “He got the guards out front, too. Must’ve been heading to finish the rest out back when we got here. Shit.”

That’s at least ten guards, if this base followed HYDRA’s past patterns. Maybe fifteen. Phil takes his own shaky breath. “Let’s get to the jet?” he asks gently.

Clint clenches his lips together and breathes noisy and fast through his nose for a moment, like he’s willing nausea away, and the tension in the hallway ratchets up a notch.

Phil knows the others can feel the frantic, frayed static in the air around what Clint must have just done. “Clint,” he says.

Natasha steps forward and carefully pries the rifle from Clint’s hands and sets it on the floor near the wall.

“Cap, can you and Natasha double check the rest of the base? Make sure there’re no stragglers. I’ll get Barton back to the jet,” Phil asks.

“Got it,” Steve acknowledges.

But Natasha steps closer to Clint and forces him to meet her gaze. They stare at each other for a moment before she lays a hand against Clint’s cheek, nods, and steps around him to go with Steve.

Once they were gone, Phil moves closer.

Clint watches him come and his breaths get rougher as his body starts to tremble. “Phil?” he whispers, and he sounds like he just woke up from a nightmare and doesn’t know where he is.

“You’re safe,” Phil says, and he imitates Natasha by pressing his hand to Clint’s sweaty cheek.

Clint closes his eyes and drops his chin to his chest. “Okay,” he mumbles.

 “Can you get back to the jet? I have medics standing by.”

That’s when Phil realizes Clint has his hand pressed to his side. His uniform is torn, just under his ribs, and Phil sees now that it’s a nasty, jagged knife wound, sluggishly bleeding through his fingers.

“Shit,” Phil mutters.

Clint opens his eyes and they’re cloudy with pain and confusion. “Phil?” he asks desperately again, and Phil moves close, nodding.

“You’re safe, Clint. Let me see, please.” Phil pulls Clint’s hand back for another look and Clint stifles a gasp. “Okay, come on. Let’s get you patched up.” He throws Clint’s arm over his own shoulder and leads them outside. He can feel Clint leaning on him more than usual, but he isn’t surprised.

Clint had escaped. He’d taken out at least ten guards and found his way back to the entrance with a knife wound and at least a good beating and he was walking out of there on his own. Well, leaning heavily on Phil, but on his own two feet. Phil pulls him a little closer, relishing the warmth of his body even here.

Phil looks over at Clint as the jet comes into view, having landed at Tony’s command. Clint has his eyes clenched shut and is leaning on Phil so much that Phil is almost dragging him, but he’s still pushing through. Ten or fifteen HYDRA guards and he’s still pushing through.

Bruce runs from the jet as soon as Phil and Clint come into view, and he skids to a halt, takes one look at Clint and says, “Fuck,” before trying to pull Clint’s other arm over his shoulder. Clint hisses when Bruce accidentally pulls his hand away from where it’s pressed against the knife wound. Bruce takes one look at it and _forces_ Clint’s arm over his shoulder. “We can get there faster this way,” he says to Phil with a determined glare.

He’s right, and the two of them drag Clint to the jet like he’s a rag doll. They press him onto a cot where Markel and Benton take over, cutting Clint’s vest off of him and setting to work on an IV.

Three hours later Phil is sitting in a chair watching Clint sleep the sleep of the heavily drugged. Natasha slips into the room and presses a coffee into Phil’s hand before sitting down in a chair next to him. She’s showered and changed from her field gear into jeans and one of Clint’s grey hoodies. They both watch Clint sleep for a few minutes and sip their drinks.

“Tony confirmed that Clint took out thirteen guards before we got there,” Natasha says quietly.

Phil stares at Clint’s hands and can see dirt and blood still under his fingernails. There are several cuts on his pale face, and his right eye is blackened. The doctors had to do surgery to repair damage from the knife wound, and they’d also figured out that Clint had broken his wrist at some point. “He didn’t wait at all for us to find him,” Phil says.

Natasha smiles mirthlessly. “First rule of being a prisoner is to escape.”

Phil blinks as what she says sinks in, and he sighs as he watches the rise and fall of Clint’s chest under the crisp white sheet of the hospital. “No matter what kind of team you give Clint Barton, he’s still going to know how to get himself out in the end,” he says, and offers Natasha a tired smile.

She grins back at him, probably remembering the same days with Delta as he is, and imagining Clint as a kid in a small town in Iowa, where it all started, his need to escape and to rescue himself.

 

 


End file.
